


Dancing On Quicksand

by unbecomings



Category: Women's Soccer RPF
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-13
Updated: 2019-09-13
Packaged: 2020-10-17 13:01:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,681
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20621444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unbecomings/pseuds/unbecomings
Summary: Emily gets sent off for a bad tackle, Lindsey loses her mind, and somehow they end up with nothing to complain about.





	Dancing On Quicksand

**Author's Note:**

> You already know what this is.
> 
> The title is from the Bad Suns song, go listen to it.

It takes Lindsey ten minutes to find Emily after the game.

She speeds through the shower even though Utah has the best ones in the league besides theirs, and she doesn’t want to talk to anyone else, or even bother to make eye contact with them. Emily isn’t in the mixed zone, of course, but she’s not right outside in the parking lot, either, and Lindsey isn’t sure where to look for her without running into fans. Emily wouldn’t have gone that way, anyway. At a loss, Lindsey goes to the empty bus, and of course the bus _isn’t_ quite empty.

Emily is in the back, curled up against the window in her pullover with her blanked spread across her lap. She’s so still that at first Lindsey thinks she’s asleep, and she stands frozen at the front of the bus next to the driver reading his newspaper until Emily sniffs.

Lindsey thinks Emily is crying until she starts walking, and then Emily looks up at her and it’s clear she’s not. Somehow that’s worse, even before Lindsey gets to her and sees how completely Emily has shut herself away.

“What’s up,” Emily says, “saved you a seat. Kept it warm for ya.”

“Em,” Lindsey says, but Emily’s already scooting over, offering up the seat next to her where her legs were placed before, acting like nothing different has happened. 

Lindsey doesn’t even realize Emily is pissed at her until she sits down and Emily says, “I thought you were gonna join me in here before the game even ended,” and then the edge in her voice tells Lindsey everything she needs to know.

“I wasn’t going to get a red card for that,” she says.

“I watched it on the screen in the locker room,” Emily says, “I saw it.”

“Yeah,” Lindsey says, “and it wasn’t a red. She flopped.”

“You weren’t even going for the ball,” Emily says.

It takes every single iota of Lindsey’s restraint not to say that Emily hadn’t been either.

“Why are you so pissed at me for standing up for you?” she asks instead. Emily looks out the window when she answers, turning her shoulders away so Lindsey can’t see her face.

“Because it was fucking stupid,” Emily says, and puts in her second Airpod, ending the conversation just before their teammates start to arrive.

-

Lucky for them, at this point, nobody is interested in rooming with either of them most of the time. More often than not they end up together anyway, and people don’t _love_ having a permanent second roommate, so it’s just easier to put them together. That way their friends can visit without having to deal with Lindsey and Emily talking and laughing into the night.

That and, Lindsey thinks, everyone has noticed the way things have changed since the World Cup.

They all probably think something happened. Nothing really did happen--if something had happened it would be easier for Lindsey to understand, it would give them something to talk about. Nothing happened for them to talk about. They just came back and things were different. Lindsey has never felt like she needed to fill the silence with Emily, but now she does. Lately the silence feels dangerous.

Tonight more than ever. She’s just waiting for Emily to yell at her. It doesn’t happen like she expects.

“Can we talk about this?” Lindsey asks, too nervous to let Emily ignore her.

“There’s nothing to talk about,” Emily says, “I fucked up, you were dumb about it, the game is over.”

Lindsey bristles. Emily is packing her bag, which she never does until two seconds before they have to leave. She hasn’t dressed for bed yet, which means she’s probably going to have to unpack and repack all over again. She looks small in her Thorns jacket, which strikes Lindsey as strange until she reads the number and realizes it’s hers.

“I was defending you,” Lindsey says.

“Why would you defend my fuckup?” Emily says, “I deserved the red card.”

“It’s not about the _card_,” Lindsey snaps, annoyed that Emily is making her explain herself. Emily’s hair is swept into a low bun that’s just starting to come loose and Lindsey wants to fix it—wants to fix a lot of things. When Emily refuses to turn around even after her bag is packed, Lindsey repeats herself. 

“It’s not about the card,” Lindsey repeats, “it’s about what she said to you.”

“I don’t care about what she said,” Emily says, but her voice is shaking when she says it. 

“I heard her,” Lindsey says. 

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Emily says, “I deserved—it was a fucking bad tackle, okay? I had a bad game. That’s it.”

“You didn’t deserve to get screamed at,” Lindsey says, reaching for Emily’s shoulder. She half expects Emily to shrug her off but Emily turns around instead, and she’s still not crying. 

“That’s okay,” Emily says, lying boldly, “I heard you give her even more of an earful than I got.”

Lindsey blushes. She’s not proud of it. She doesn’t regret it, but it does sort of feel like that all happened to someone else. She doesn’t really even remember what she said. 

“She was going fucking insane,” Lindsey says.

“Oh, I know,” Emily says, “you told her. Told her a lot of other shit too. It was kind of hot.”

Lindsey feels like she’s been punched. The same rush of adrenaline she got watching Emily get screamed at hits her again, but this time there’s no roaring crowd, just her heartbeat roaring in her ears. Emily grins crookedly at her and Lindsey can’t stop her eyes from dropping briefly to Emily’s mouth. 

“Don’t joke about that,” Lindsey says. 

“About what,” Emily says, “you screaming at Amy? It’s all over the internet, Linds.”

“Don’t joke about being into me,” Lindsey says. It’s the bravest thing she’s ever done and as soon as she does it she wants to undo it. 

Emily is blushing when she responds, and she’s definitely not making eye contact. She’s staring into the middle distance somewhere between Lindsey’s neck and shoulder. 

“Who says I’m joking?” she squeaks. It’s supposed to be smooth but it helps that Lindsey can tell how nervous Emily is instead. It gives her just enough confidence to reach for Emily as soon as Emily makes eye contact with her again, cupping Emily’s face in her hands and dragging her into a kiss. 

Emily kisses back desperately, and it turns everything Lindsey knows about herself and their friendship right on its head. She doesn’t care to figure it out but it means she needs to hold on to Emily physically to keep herself grounded. Emily must feel the same way, because she’s clutching the front of Lindsey’s shirt in her hands while they kiss. It’s a good kiss even if it’s messy, even if Emily’s teeth slide across Lindsey’s lower lip and it startles them both. It’s good in a way that makes Lindsey genuinely wonder why they haven’t been doing this for years. It’s good enough that she can’t even come up with an answer even though she knows there is one. 

When Emily pulls back they’re both breathless and Lindsey is a little dizzy. She lets her hands drop from Emily’s face, expecting some kind of fallout, but it never comes. Instead Emily grins at her again and for a second Lindsey forgets about the game and everything else. 

“I’m gonna shower,” Emily says, “because I didn’t get to before. But afterwards I wanna do more of that.”

It feels like that shower lasts forever. Lindsey doesn’t know what to do with herself. She’s worked up, a lot more than she expected to be, enough to be daydreaming guiltily about Emily in the steam of the bathroom. She changes into pajamas and sits on her bed with her back up against the headboard. When Emily comes out of the shower, Lindsey looks up from her phone and they freeze, just staring at each other. 

Emily’s hair is wet. Her t-shirt is too big on her and she looks small. Lindsey guesses that Emily is probably wearing shorts, but the T-shirt is long enough that she can barely see them. She _can_ see Emily’s legs, and that’s where she looks. 

“Hey,” Emily says. 

“Come here,” Lindsey says, and to her utter surprise, Emily listens to her. 

Emily immediately swings her leg over so she can settle in Lindsey’s lap. Their faces are very close together and Lindsey is still trying to process how much she likes the weight of Emily resting in her lap when Emily kisses her again. This time Lindsey places her hands on Emily’s hips and Emily places her hands on Lindsey’s chest, tucking her fingers just inside the collar of Lindsey’s shirt. It makes Lindsey feel like she’s overheating. The kiss gets messy again fast, and before long Emily’s pulling at her collar and just barely rocking forward against Lindsey’s lap and Lindsey has to do her best to slow them down. She breaks the kiss and noses her way down along Emily’s jaw and neck, and Emily goes still and slackens her grip on Lindsey’s shirt. Lindsey, afraid that Emily has reconsidered, lifts her head. 

Emily is crying. 

She presses her hands to her eyes, but she’s sniffling and it’s too late, Lindsey has already seen. 

“Hey,” Lindsey says, gathering Emily into a hug, “hey, it’s okay. Em, it’s okay.”

“I fucked up,” Emily says into her neck as Lindsey sinks to lie on the bed, still holding Emily against her, “twice, I knew better, I just couldn’t stop them and I’m—“

“It’s okay,” Lindsey repeats, “shit happens.”

“It can’t,” Emily says. Lindsey has never heard her like this. She’s not even trying to hide how broken up she is over it, and it makes Lindsey’s chest ache. 

“It can’t if I want to go to Tokyo,” Emily says, “she was right.”

“Stop,” Lindsey says, “she was mad, she doesn’t know shit. You’re going.”

“Maybe I don’t deserve to,” Emily says quietly.

“You deserve it,” Lindsey says, and she says it again, and then the third time she says it she’s also on the verge of tears and Emily lifts her head to kiss her. 

This time it doesn’t escalate. Lindsey wipes away Emily’s tears and marvels at the fact that Emily is even letting her see them. They’ve been close for years but she’s never expected or imagined being close enough to Emily to see all this. She hadn’t even known that it was possible. Eventually their kissing falters and gets lazy, and Emily tucks her face back into Lindsey’s neck. When her breathing slows, Lindsey lets herself close her eyes. 

-

When she wakes up, Emily’s back is up against her chest and she has her arm around Emily’s wasit. She doesn’t want to move because she’s afraid to wake Emily up, but then Emily moves against her, mumbling quietly. 

“Em,” Lindsey says, “we gotta turn off the lights.”

“No,” Emily mumbles, “don’t wanna move.”

But she is moving. She keeps wriggling back against Lindsey’s hips and Lindsey is definitely awake now, struggling to keep her mind from going places it shouldn’t, flexing her hand against Emily’s stomach over her shirt. 

Before she knows it Emily is rocking back against her hips and reaching down for her hand. Lindsey turns her head and gets a face half full of Emily’s hair, but manages to get her mouth on Emily’s neck. She hasn’t had time to imagine what this would be like and she’s glad, because every second belong specifically to both of them together. She never could have imagined it like this, the way Emily shoves Lindsey’s hand up under her shirt, the quiet, feverish sound she makes when Lindsey rocks her hips forward. When Lindsey’s hand covers Emily’s breast, Emily tips her head back and groans. She lets go of Lindsey’s hand and Lindsey hesitates until Emily speaks. 

“I wanted you to do this for so long,” Emily says, like it’s _funny_.

“Could have said so,” Lindsey says, even though they both know better. 

“Better like this,” Emily says, and Lindsey makes note of the fact that Emily, apparently, doesn’t mind a wait. 

“I haven’t even done anything yet,” Lindsey says, moving her hand to Emily’s other breast, working her thigh between Emily’s legs. 

“I _know_,” Emily whines, half-laughing again, and just to get her to stop laughing Lindsey slides her hand down the front of Emily’s shorts. 

Emily doesn’t laugh after that. She gasps and writhes and clings to Lindsey’s arm, and Lindsey is surprised at how easily she figures out what Emily wants. She can’t get a good enough angle for much, but she can give Emily the friction she wants, and Emily does the rest, sliding herself against Lindsey’s fingers as she rolls her hips. Lindsey holds Emily close to her, close enough that she can feel Emily’s breath coming in hard, short bursts as her stomach rises and falls beneath Lindsey’s forearm. 

“Linds,” Emily pants, “I’m--”

“Tell me,” Lindsey mumbles.

“I need,” Emily pants, and wriggles out of Lindsey’s grasp. She rolls over onto her back and drags Lindsey on top of her. Lindsey barely gets her wits about her before Emily’s dragging her own shorts over her hips and guiding Lindsey’s hand back between her legs, and it hits Lindsey _hard_, the way Emily wants her, the way Emily’s not afraid to show her exactly how. 

They’re a mess and they don’t take their time, and it’s still perfect. Emily’s shirt is pushed up almost to her neck, her hands fisted into the sheets, Lindsey’s hand working between her legs, under the underwear that neither of them have bothered to take off. Emily shows Lindsey exactly how to fuck her and Lindsey does exactly what Emily wants and she can’t get over how _good_ it feels to do that, to do this for Emily, to watch Emily shudder and shake apart under her. Emily’s laughing when she comes, reaching for Lindsey and holding onto her with a hand on the back of her neck and one gripping her bicep.

She looks so different from the Emily that had cried herself to sleep hours earlier that it’s hard to believe they’re the same person. 

“Fuck,” Emily laughs breathlessly, “okay. Okay.”

“Okay?” Lindsey asks, taking her hand back, resting it on Emily’s stomach.

“Okay,” Emily confirms. Her eyes are closed, and Lindsey finds herself distracted by the splash of freckles across Emily’s nose and cheeks. She’s seen them thousands of times but she’s never wanted to kiss them before.

“Your turn,” Emily says, opening her eyes, and Lindsey’s stomach flips.

“You don’t have to,” Lindsey says quickly, “you’re tired, we--you can go back to sleep.”

“You think I’m doing this,” Emily says, slipping her hand under Lindsey’s shirt to press it against her abdomen, “because I feel like I have to?”

Lindsey hesitates. 

“No,” she says, but she’s already made it obvious that she does, and Emily’s expression softens and Lindsey wants to cry. She’s ruined it. She knows it.

“Lindsey,” Emily says, her hand creeping higher, her fingertips brushing the underside of Lindsey’s breast, “you are so fucking hot. You don’t get it.”

“I don’t get it,” Lindsey echoes, because she doesn’t, and she can’t formulate anything more coherent with Emily palming her breast. 

Emily’s eyes drop to Lindsey’s mouth. Lindsey’s stomach drops right out of her.

“If you want to roll over,” Emily says, “I’ll show you.”

-

Later, Lindsey lays boneless in the middle of the bed with Emily’s cheek resting against her chest and Emily drawing aimless circles against her ribs.

Later, Emily lifts her head, resting her chin on Lindsey’s shoulder, and waits for Lindsey to open her eyes .

“Thank you,” Emily says quietly, and somehow it’s the most sincere thing she’s said all night.

“For getting a yellow?” Lindsey jokes, and Emily shakes her head.

“For sticking up for me,” Emily clarifies, “even though I didn’t deserve it.”


End file.
